


Wet Heat

by iniquiticity



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Chicago Blackhawks, Dirty Talk, Grinding It Out In The Corner: Another Hockey Rare Pairs Fest, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for rarepairs: "Bollig/Shaw; Alpha/Beta dynamics. "Shawzy is in heat and all he wants is Brandon."</p><p>Shameless knotting porn. Woo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Heat

They win a tough one against Philadelphia, all vicious checks in the corner and a couple of nasty penalties. The Flyers score to tie it up late in the third, but the Hawks pull it out with a few amazing shootout saves from Crawford and a patented Kaner wristshot that leaves them celebrating all over ice, surrounded by the scream of their home fans.

Q yells at them in the dressing room that they need to tighten it up and stop taking awful penalties in the third period (he does this while staring pointedly at Saad, who’s trying with all his might to become invisible), but he finishes up the rant with a proud clap and a _good job boys_ before disappearing into his office. 

Then the dressing room devolves into a lot of shit-talking and them planning their evenings. They’re off tomorrow, which is wonderful, and then they’re flying to Vancouver.

Brandon is formulating a good plan for his day off, hitting the gym, laying around, playing video games, practice. He’s more or less off in his own world, and when he comes back, Kane is wearing this fixated look on the ground and Toews is staring at the back of his winger’s head, and Crawford has stopped taking his gear off and has his eyes closed and is taking deep breaths, and - _oh_. 

It hits him all at once, that smell of heat, hot-sticky-wet like a fucking jungle, hovering over the dressing room like a fog. Not everyone’s an alpha or omega on their team, of course, so to most of them it seems like nothing’s happened. But Brandon knows it immediately, can feel it yanking at his brainstem like a five year old on his pantleg. He drops the piece of gear he was removing without caring, biting his lip to keep from letting his mouth hang open, tracking the scent with his nose. It’s just a good thing he’s still wearing his cup, because even the tease of it is drawing him half-hard and wanting. 

Someone, a part of his mind thinks, forgot to take their suppressants. They can stop the heat more or less entirely, or at least dial it down to flu-like symptoms that omegas can play through and don’t derail alphas. But this is not that. This is full-blown heat and Brandon’s forgotten how intense it can be. 

His nose figures it out, and the visual only confirms it. 

Shaw. 

It’s Shawsy, sitting there with shaking fingers as he fights to undo his gear, breathing heavy and shivering with want. Brandon licks his lips without thinking, and Shawsy looks up at him, his eyes sliding into focus. 

“Bolly,” Shawsy says, in a whisper that carries across the dressing room and straight to Brandon’s dick, which is now pressed uncomfortably against his jock.

Brandon sits ramrod straight and fights not to drool. He bites his lip to keep his mouth from hanging open, because he’s hooked into the heatscent now, keyed up and anxious and wanting. Having sex with betas is fine, he doesn’t mind it - but nothing is like finding an omega in heat, wet and open and wanting, and that _smell_ , and Brandon is about three seconds away from pressing Shawsy into the dressing room bench and fucking him. 

To make it worse/better, Shawsy staggers over and sits next to him, putting his hand on Brandon’s thigh and pressing his face into his side. The smell intensifies, and Brandon feels like he’s just played about eight periods, mind blurry. 

“Bolly,” Shawsy whispers into his arm. “Bolly, Bolly, Bolly.” 

“My gear,” he manages, in what might be a squeak, and Shawsy’s hand is yanking off his elbowpad and fighting with his chestguard, and this is enough like undressing him that Brandon swallows back the moan. Shawsy inhales a deep breath of him, like taking a hit of what he must smell like, all raw alpha want, reacting accordingly to Shawsy’s blazing, obvious arousal. 

“Hey,” says a voice - his captain, and he manages a dazed look in Toews’ direction, staring up at him. “You guys should probably get out of here. We’ll cover.” 

“Bolly,” Shawsy whispers into his bicep, and then the smaller forward licks him, just a teasing flick of his tongue against sweaty skin. 

“Good idea,” Brandon manages, with some effort. He turns to Shawsy, who looks up at him with these glazed eyes and he wants to fuck that mouth so badly, or at least get his tongue in it.

“Gear,” he says, and Shawsy yanks off his own pads, messy and not caring, flinging everything into Brandon’s stall, and then Shawsy starts taking off Brandon’s pads. They’re just in their underarmor and jocks now, and that will have to do. 

“Jeans,” he says, and he pulls his own on with shaking hands. “Shirt.” 

Shawsy follows his directions, but not before Brandon gets an eyeful of the growing wet spot on Shawsy’s ass and _fuck fuck fuck_ , he is going to lose it. 

“Home,” he says, and he grabs Shawsy’s wrist and yanks him out of the dressing room, leaving a confused group of teammates wondering if they’ve all done something wrong. They grab a taxi, and Shawsy keeps his face in Brandon’s bicep, (“ _Bolly, Bolly, Bolly...”_ ) and Brandon knows they must still smell sweaty and disgusting from the game but all he can smell is sticky wetness and all he can feel is the blazing heat of Shawsy’s skin and his achingly hard cock pressed up against his jock, more or less painfully now. He pays with money he doesn’t actually count, drags Shawsy into his house, and then he presses the smaller man up against the door and fucks his tongue into the other man’s mouth. 

“You didn’t take your....” he manages in gasps between kisses, and then Shawsy is fighting with his clothes, tearing Brandon’s t-shirt off and yanking the sweat-soaked underarmor away so he can be closer, still taking these deep breaths of his scent. 

“Forgot, Bolly,” Shawsy replies, and the other man is licking his sweaty skin like he’s a fucking popsicle, fighting with his jeans and his underarmor, yanking them to his thighs, and pulling off his jock and _shit_ , that’s a relief. “Fuck me.” 

“Yeah,” Brandon agrees without thinking, fighting with Shawsy’s jeans and his underarmor and his jock right back, and Shawsy springs to life as much as Brandon did, and when Brandon looks down he can see Shawsy’s dripping with want. Literally, because Brandon runs a hand through the crease of Shawsy’s ass, playing with his hole, and he’s soaking wet, moaning, pressing his front against the door and pushing his ass back into Brandon’s hand. 

“Don’t stretch me, just fuck me,” Shawsy murmurs, and maybe under normal circumstances Brandon might object, but he’s way too far gone at this particular juncture. 

Shawsy cries out when Brandon gets inside of him, digs his fingers into the door and arches his back in a way that Brandon stares at. Shawsy pushes his ass back against Brandon’s cock and rolls his hips expertly, practically fucking himself up against Brandon. The view is really, really spectacular, and it’s complimented by some absolutely delicious noises that Shawsy makes in between gasping his name when Brandon starts fucking him in earnest. Then, Brandon wraps his slick hand around Shawsy’s cock and pulls him off in hard, fast strokes. 

Shawsy comes all over his hand and the door with a gasp, whimpering as Brandon fucks into him, intensity increasing. He pulls out before he comes, stroking once, twice, and then shooting white all over Shawsy’s ass and thighs. 

“Take the edge off,” he murmurs, and Shawsy laughs an exhausted laugh against the door. 

“That better not be all you’ve got,” Shawsy replies, and he turns to look up at Brandon, the lust-tint of his heat still in his eyes. And god damnit, he smells so good, like Brandon wants to fuck him until he begs for it to end. 

“I will fuck you for hours,” Brandon promises in a low rumble that makes Shawsy whimper and hit him with another burst of heatscent. Brandon has to actively concentrate on standing because Shawsy like this is making his knees shake. “Now get in that bed.” 

Shawsy doesn’t have to be told twice, stripping off his clothes and flinging himself down the hallways, into the bedroom and onto the bed. Brandon stares at him as he disrobes, watching Shawsy touch himself, twist his nipples and dig his fingers into his chest, leaving red scrapes. 

“The fuck are you not touching me for?” Shawsy growls up at him, and that spurs Brandon to action, climbing on top of him and kissing him until those hands are digging into Brandon’s back, leaving red welts that he’ll have to explain to everyone else. He doesn’t care, not with this delicious body writhing under him, Shawsy hard again and grinding against his thigh, not with the way he could drown in the smell of it, in the taste of Shawsy’s mouth. 

“Fuck me again,” Shawsy demands when Brandon bends his head to suck at the smaller man’s neck. Brandon looks down his body and glares at his cock, twitching desperately to get into the action. Shawsy figures it out a second later, and he makes an irritated scoffing noise interrupted by a gasp as Brandon bites him. “Dildos under the bed,” he says, and Brandon chokes back a moan. 

Shawsy has quite the selection, and as Brandon’s hanging over the edge of the bed picking one, the other forward is sitting on his thighs and massaging his ass, kissing and licking at the small of his back and groaning at the friction he can create against Brandon’s body. Eventually Brandon figures it out, a medium-sized one that Shawsy rumbles approval of. He lies down on his front and spreads his legs and Brandon stares for a few seconds before Shawsy clears his throat and wiggles his ass. 

“You’re really fucking wet,” Brandon murmurs to him as he slides the dildo in, and Shawsy sighs with pleasure, rubbing up against the sheets and back against it. 

“I want you real fucking badly,” Shawsy replies, into the pillow. He looks over his shoulder, his sweat-damp face tinged with irritation. “Fuck you, fuck me with that like you mean it.” 

Brandon does as is requested, increasing his pace with the toy, and Shawsy reacts accordingly, groaning and biting his lip and arching like a cat. “Much better,” he groans. “Wish you could get your fucking cock in me though. Want you to come inside me and knot me the fuck up. Fuck, I’ll be so fucking tight around you, and you’ll just get in me so deep, and your knot will be so fucking big, stretching me, fuck.” 

“Jesus christ,” Brandon gasps, and yeah, his cock is finally starting to get into the picture now, hardening up. He leaves the dildo to the side and Shawsy opens his mouth to complain, but before he can do so, Brandon gets a hold of Shawsy’s hips and flips him onto his back with a grunt. 

Shawsy grins wildly up at him and spreads his legs again, pulling his knees against his chest. Brandon stares at him, then reaches for a pillow to slide it under Shawsy’s hips. He slides in easy, and Shawsy’s tight and loose all at once, and he clenches around Brandon in a way that makes him gasp and jerk forward. “God.” 

“You can call me that if you want,” Shawsy rumbles, and Brandon laughs breathlessly. 

“You’re a fucking shithead,” Brandon says, and Shawsy clenches around him like punishment. 

“A fucking shithead you’re about the fuck the brains out of, I hope,” Shawsy says, and Brandon leans forward, pushing Shawsy’s legs against his chest. 

“You nailed it,” Brandon replies, and he gathers his energy and then begins to fuck Shawsy in earnest, hard snaps of his hips that make the bed shake and make Shawsy wail, not caring or paying attention to being soft or delicate. Brandon drowns in it, the smell of his heat and the scent of his sex and his loud moans and begs and cries. Brandon digs his fingers into Shawsy’s thighs to hold his legs up, and they’re slick with wetness, and Brandon loves how fucking wet Shawsy is, how eager and slutty he sounds, how he clenches and pushes back.

“Touch me, you fucking fuckface,” Shawsy gasps, and Brandon doesn’t know how one could deny a request like that, especially spilled from lips like that, from a body and a man like this. Shawsy comes after barely being touched, spilling all over himself and gasping as Brandon continues to fuck into him. Eventually he’s got Shawsy whimpering under him as he pounds him, trying to push back but lacking the leverage, making these small little begs and pleads that Brandon doesn’t understand, but they sound so, so good. He starts kissing them away now, pressing these sloppy, messy kisses to Shawsy’s mouth, all wet intensity with no focus, his concentration on the pounding of his hips. 

“How long can you fucking go?” Shawsy gasps into his mouth, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Because I’m totally fucking okay if you fuck me for hours.” 

“Shut up,” Brandon pants, Shawsy shocks him by listening, so Brandon rewards him by sucking a dark mark into his neck. Brandon wants to make this last for a while, wants Shawsy to be deliciously sore and achey, wants him to remember, wants him to know who did this. Maybe wants him to brag. 

Definitely wants him to brag. 

“Gonna come soon,” he murmurs against Shawsy’s neck, and Shawsy groans, nodding and murmuring nothings. “Gonna knot in you, yeah?” 

“Want you to breed me up, yeah,” Shawsy replies, digging his heels into Brandon’s back, and Brandon can’t even wait to explain those bruises. “Get deep inside of me and fill me up with your come. Knot me so it stays in me. Want to smell like you, Bolly. Want to smell like you and be yours and have you and have this.” He digs his fingers into Brandon’s shoulders, leaving bruises on bruises, and Brandon likes the way his name sounds in panting breaths. _Bolly, Bolly, Bolly, Bolly._

He builds up to it, loses rhythm and pace, becomes erratic and wild and intense and Shawsy begs him to go harder, swears at him and curses at him and knows he can be harder, starts insulting him and his game and his parentage and telling him how fucking hot he is. Shawsy clenches around and when Brandon looks down he sees that Shawsy’s hard again between them.

Shawsy meets his eyes, licks his own fingers, and jerks himself roughly. Brandon manages an exhausted smile and returns to concentrating on his own pending orgasm. Estimated time of arrival: now. 

It hits him like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of him, squeezing air from his lungs like a brick to the chest. Shawsy whines and cries out, clenching tightly around him as Brandon comes, and he can feel the swell of the knot growing. Shawsy grins and clenches, and Brandon shifts just a little, pulling the knot agains the rim of Shawsy’s hole, which makes the smaller man shudder and groan with pleasure. 

“Jesus fuck, Bolly, fuck,” Shawsy manages, though Brandon keeps shifting his hips and whatever else Shawsy was going to say is lost to a long moan. 

“You’re stuck with me,” Brandon murmurs, and Shawsy reaches up with one hand to touch his face in a surprisingly tender way. 

“Fucking right I am,” Shawsy replies, and he shifts against the knot and gasps with it. There’s a long pause where they’re bound, and Brandon just moves a little now and then, just to keep Shawsy gasping and on his toes. It allows them both to come down a little from the incredible intensity of the heat, but Brandon finds himself thinking there’s probably more to come tonight. 

“Hi, Bolly,” Shawsy says, with a dopy grin that Brandon can’t help but smile back at.

“Hi, Shawsy,” he replies, and Shawsy lifts his head to kiss him, gentle. “You’re really hot.” 

“I’m really hot?” Shawsy asks, and Brandon nods. “Shit, you’re way hotter than I am. Look at your fucking body. And your cock, yeah, feels real good inside me. And shit, you know how to fucking use it. No way Kaner and Tazer have better sex than us.” 

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” Brandon replies, and Shawsy quiets, just managing these wonderful pleased noises as he shifts against Brandon’s knot. Brandon likes watching Shawsy pleasure himself like this, something hot and delicious about the other man using his body. “How many times can you get off?” 

“Enough,” Shawsy answers, grinning, face red with the exertion. “Pretty awesome, huh?” 

“Kind of jealous,” Brandon replies.

Shawsy laughs, pushing himself against Brandon’s knot and groaning. “Don’t give this amazing thing up for it,” he pants. 

“You only like me for my cock.” 

“I like your sweet ass, too,” Shawsy says, and Brandon laughs. He feels his knot begin to settle, and when it’s gone down enough he slips out. Shawsy groans in complaint, the heatscent dissipated into something warm and satisfied, and Brandon takes a deep inhale of it. He know they’re both filthy, sticky and slick, but he can’t get up the energy to move. 

Instead, Shawsy spoons up to his front and sighs with pleasure. Brandon wraps an arm around him and cuddles close, and Shawsy wraps his arms around the forearm that crosses his chest. They’re tucked close, even without the knot. 

“Hey, Bolly,” Shawsy murmurs. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’d still have sex with you even if you didn’t have such a great body.” 

Brandon finds himself oddly touched, even as he laughs. He kisses Shawsy’s messy hair and hugs him. “I’d still keep you too,” he mumbles, and Brandon can feel Shawsy smile, can see the tenseness leave his shoulders. 

“Good night,” Shawsy murmurs, and drops off. Brandon takes a little while longer to fall asleep, but the fact that he gets to feel Shawsy in his arms and listen to his breathing, even and regular, makes it just fine.


End file.
